Shannon's Short Stories
by luxlow
Summary: This is a bunch of short stories that I wrote for a range of things, some of them are actually the prologue's to my books, which is how they started!
1. The Diary of Jeff Crows

-1Dear Diary

As my life goes by, I sometimes wonder whether I truly belong.; if my life is worth living. Scientists telling us that we are destroying the world, slowly eradicating species off the planet like a checklist, one by one. Diary, are humans worth this paradise we call Earth? Or are we just pawns in an ever-growing losing game of chess? Sometimes I wonder why I even bother. Take for example today, staring at the shapeless blob in the mirror, imitating my movements. Breathing upon the glass with heated breathe, crystallising the glass with frost crystals, searching upon my hideous face for the imperfections that lay upon it. My reflection pointing and laughing upon the thing I have to look out into the weird world, that I call my life.

Jeff

Dear Diary

I regret what I said yesterday. A new boy came to school today and I think I'm in love! Me! Of all people, the depressing shadow that lingers in the corners of the school hallway, dodging the waves of intruders of the world, hiding when a "unpleasant" one appears. Diary, why does everything weird happen to me? It seems that you are the only thing I can tell lately how I feel, and my deepest feelings. Why can't things be more simple, like the equation E=mc^2. Simplistic so much that anyone can see.

Jeff

Dear Diary

I am slowly building a profile of the new boy. The more I learn, the more irresistible he becomes. Foreign, an accent, slim build, blonde hair. Why couldn't God make me like that? Me? A semi-fat ugly know-it-all bisexual brat. Could I be faulty? Could I need fixing? Diary, sometimes I wish you could take back. Well, at least you are proof that I actually exist. It's just, I want one thing everyone drives for. Even birds, magpies with their feathered hands in the black and white pockets get "it", but not me. What am I doing wrong Diary? Is it like what I said before? Am I faulty? Or just another misguided teen the media stereotypes about? Soon hopefully, I will know.

Jeff

Dear Diary

Dear friend, I am sorry that I didn't write to you yesterday, but something miraculous happened! Frank, the foreign boy I am in love with became my friend. Maybe the fates are playing a game with me, just like Calypso in Greek Mythology, being punished for what I am. But I don't care, something is finally going my way for once. Though, ever since yesterday, I've had this funny feeling inside me. It's something I've never felt before. Oh God! What a cliché! Ha-ha!. My heart races out like a bullet from its barrel, trying to rip free of the padded cell that is my chest, protecting it from the cruelty of the world. A sweet sorrow that plays upon my heart. Now, just now, I might show the world who I am, who I want to be. Just maybe.

Jeff

Dear Diary

Diary, today I found a new way to describe mine and Franks non-exist but present at the same time "relationship". An amalgamation of parallel stories. See Diary? I do pay attention once in a while in English. Though I do find his use of jargon quite absurd and sexist at times. Meh! No body is perfect! Re reminds me sometimes of a ghetto boy trapped within a porcelain body. Sometimes I wish I could tell him how I feel but other times I don't. Its like a constant battle between heart and mind, each fighting for their say in ever growing predicament that is foreboding. Which one of these shall prevail?

Jeff

Dear Diary

Today I am determined to tell him! He told me about his life. His upbringing in the cold, harsh conditions of Russia. Always in fear of the Mafia. Escaping the country before his father could find him. His father, from what I learnt is a horrible man. Abusing Frank. Abusing his mother. I don't know how they did it. Staying with that unforgivable arse. I would have run away if it was me, long before they decided to leave. Today I shall inform him of my life. The truth. My upbringing. The torment. The Quacks. I really do hope, that this doesn't backfire. Wish me luck, ha-ha. More like give me a four leaf clover!

Jeff

Dear Diary

I come to you with a heavy and bleeding heart. He told me to "leave me alone" then started calling me names like "stalker" and "fag-boy". I let my heart roam free from the imprisonment. Its like I'm a judge, that sent a murderer free and he killed again. My heart, trampled upon like a cockroach. My tears, slowly sliding down my slick face, cast beautiful rainbows across my bleak room. Just like my life. Beautiful rainbows hidden within the walls of alienation. Tomorrow, I will do the unthinkable. Tomorrow will be the final diary entry for Jeff Crows.

Jeff

My Dearest, and most loyal friend

Today, I say goodbye to you. Today I will leap off the gorge. Today will be the last time I ever think, ever do anything. My life, an ever-flowing stream of thought without meaning. Today is my last. I've informed Frank by message of what I intent to do. He didn't seem to care, all he said was "So? You'll make the world a better place!" and left. Today. Now. I say my final goodbye upon this darkened world without any regrets. A single rainbow which fades into the background once more.

Your most humble of friend

Jeff.


	2. The Curoius Traveller

-1The sun is bright, as its harmful rays plummet towards Earth. The birds flutter about in flocks as they chirp, hunting for food. Sheep bleat in the distance as Michael the Traveller drifts down the rocky road on his horse draw carriage. The sound of the chestnut horse's hooves clicking as they crash to the ground in a perfect, synchronized rhythm with Michael's whistling. Trees of the dense forest surrounding the carriage sway back and forth, dancing to the sound. His beautiful, pale faced sister Eleanor sitting next to him, her head slumped on his shoulder. Her hair is golden brown falling upon her white gown, a perfect juxtaposition of colours. The time is 12:00pm.

A gunshot erupts around them, both duck through reflex. Michael looks at his sister as a different carriage pulls in from an incoming road. Another gunshot fills the air. This time both didn't duck. Eleanor's head explodes as the oversized bullet rips through bone and muscle. Blood sprays Michael in the face and drips over his linen clothes. The white dressed woman falls off the carriage in clichéd slow motion. A small moan escapes Michael's mouth. Another gunshot splits the air, the horse neighs than after a few seconds collapses as it drowns in its own blood.

The carriage up ahead stops once more and fires the bullet. The wood beside Michael's head erupts as splinters of wood rain down on him. He quickly throws himself off the carriage onto the grass beside the road and into the forest. Michael elevates his head and watches the carriage disappear at high speed. He regains his senses and starts off after the other carriage, forgetting the carnage of a day he would never forget.

He follows the carriage to London and there is where he finds the man with his wife. The time now was 4:39pm. At six o'clock he would get his revenge. Michael walks to streets, deciding on the best course of action. He walks unconsciously into a bar and orders a standard. He slowly sips the drink as many eyes follow his every move. Clothes tattered and drenched in blood. The time was now five thirty. His made his descent into evil.

He strolls the streets of London until he finds the house once again. A small cottage with only four rooms, a small yard littered with flowers and weeds. Michael moves around to the side of the cottage and slowly lifts the window. Completely soundless, he slinks into the kitchen and takes a knife out of a drawer. He transverses the house until he reaches the bedroom. Outside of the room is the rifle, Michael picks it up and aims it at what he thinks where the bed would be. He lifts his foot and crashes it down onto the door. The man and his wife are making love as the bedroom door crashes down. The woman starts to scream as Michael pulls the trigger aiming straight at the man.

The man becomes a fountain of blood, with it spraying everything in the room. The woman finally lets out a small scream before Michael his beside her with his giant hand over her small mouth. He drops the rifle and pulls out the knife. He presses it to her stomach and the drives it into her. The woman bites Michael's hand. "Shit!" he screams. The woman presses a hand to her wound her leaps off the saturated bed. She starts to run out of the room before Michael grabs her again. He rips her hand away from her stomach and forces his fingers inside her. He lifts her from the ground with only his fingers as she starts to moan. The woman goes limp as Michael sticks his other hand into her and starts to pull.


	3. A Blackened Heart

He dribbles the ball. Up down up down. His hand slightly burnt from the blazing sun above him. The sky, cloudless for the eye can see. He passes the ball to his friend who passes back to him. He reaches out and misses. He starts after the basketball. "Kevin!" his friend shouts. Kevin didn't hear the horn honking. He didn't hear the tyres screeching, trying to stop. The drivers face white as a ghost grows wide in shock. The driver turns the wheel and screams. As the car flips, Kevin lets out a final scream and is crushed against the car. His friend runs towards the upside down car and screams his name again. The car rolls off Kevin as Simon runs toward it. He snatches Kevin's hand into his own. He puts it up to his face. Kevin's hand feels cold against his face. He looks down at Kevin's face and sees the open gash on his head, blood oozing out of it. Kevin's eyes open and look into the dark depths of his friend's eyes. "Simon" he stutters as blood starts to spill out of his mouth. "Good bye, Simon".

Simon places his hand over the open wound on Kevin's head. "Heal" he whispers. Purple engulfs the body of the teenager. Simon watches as Kevin's body start to rise off the ground as the purple force devours him. Kevin's open wounds start to sew back together as the purple washes over them. Kevin's eyes start to flicker open and he sees the purple haze over his body and his wounds sewing back together. Then he spots Simon's hand over his heart. His eyes widen in fright. Simon sees his friends eyes and stops the power flow directed at Kevin. He looks up at Simon and says a single word "Freak".

Simon looks down at his once best friend.

"Freak" Kevin spits at him again.

Simon's face contorts in ager. People are starting to run toward the injured driver, ignoring the two boys. Simon places his hand back over Kevin's head and lets the power flow out of his hand onto Kevin. Slowly Kevin's mouth starts to sew together. His skin stretching over his mouth, Kevin tries to get up, but finds he is paralysed. The skin over his mouth melds with the skin on the other side of his mouth. Kevin's eyes grow in fear. Simon keeps his hand over Kevin's body, slowly making its way over his heart.

Kevin feels his blood temperature slowly rising. Kevin tries to scream but the skin over his mouth smothers his scream. Simon smiles at the dying teenager in front of him. The teenagers' blood starts to become unbearable. The blood starts to lava as it grows hotter. Kevin's heart starts pumping the lava around his body, Simon puts a small but powerful shield around Kevin's heart to protect it from the lava. The lava starts to eat away the muscle and flesh of the teenager.

Simon releases the shield around Kevin's heart and watches as Kevin's heart stops beating and the remains of the boys body move toward the sewer, slowly dropping into the drain as it melts the metal. Pieces of Kevin still visible in it, Simon stands back up

again and walks away from the car crash, the gaping hole in the road that know body notices until he is long gone. Simon stops and cranes his neck to watch the bloodbath of the car crash. Simon spots a chunk of an ear next to the drain. He watches as the wind blows it down to the sewers with the rest of his once best friend.

He starts to stress, where is he? The man races to the phone as an idea strikes him. The friend, what was his name? Simon…Pater. He smacks his head, his greying hair prickling his hand. Kieran Johnston is 43 and balding in the hair. His clothes are two new for him; the shirt overhangs his beer gut. He rips out the phonebook and looks under j. looking, looking. There! His chubby finger drops the phone number and he starts dialling the number. The dial tone stars. Once, twice, three times. Fou-"Simon?" asks a voice.

"No, this is Kevin's father, I was just wondering if Simon has seen Kevin lately?" Kieran asks.  
"Simon hasn't come home in two days." the voice is layered with sadness. The woman is crying. "Oh, ok. Sorry." He hangs up the phone. He keys in the police number, only to be answered by a machine. "Must be on their lunch break, at the same time." he mutters. He sits down; all this walking has caused him to sweat. He falls to his side, and soon falls asleep.

The blue and red lights through the windows wake him. He lifts himself out of the chair with effort. He passes the computer, old and broken down. His fat fingers squeeze the handle of the door and he opens it. He immediately looks down to find his son. "Are you Mister Johnston?" The police officer asks, a small and thin man, with blonde hair and a beard is looking at him.  
"Yes, have you found my son?" The fat man asks.  
"I am very sorry, but your son's remains were found earlier today down a drain." The police officer says, rubbing his bearded chin. Sympathy shines in his bright, intelligent blue eyes. Kieran takes a step backwards and falls to the ground. The Policeman's eyes widen and he yells at his partner to call an ambulance, even though the old man is already dead, his expression clearly shows that. The police officer bends over him and tries in vein to find a pulse, but the last shock was too much for Kieran's him. The loss of a son.


	4. To Remember A Sin

-1Marlinja, 730 km south of Darwin, Australia

There's only one way of describing it. Horror, pure and undiluted horror. When He came home, when Tommy broke out of prison. I knew then and there, I was doomed. That he would come for me. I'll start at the beginning, when I remember when Tommy and I were best friends, we were friends for life. He might have been fifteen and I was ten at the time, I will never forget what he did. I will never forget the day it happened.

Night time, crickets croaking in the distant background, the noise pouring though the curtain draped tinted windows. The heat seeps through the cracks of the closed windows, like a deadly mist lingering about. The old television on, glowing, illuminating the room, the white lines of static flowing from the bottom to the top from the bad reception. I tilted my head onto my broad, square shoulders, my eyes staring out into darkness. My faint reflection gazing back at me. My arms rested against the arm rests on the crimson recliner. My plain blue tee-shirt and boxers sticking to my sweaty skin. I pushed myself out of the chair, un-sticking myself as my pores clench, like their crying out "No! We want to stay!" I dragged my feet across the dirty wooden floors; my feet were black from the dirt outside and the floorboards.

Then I herd the sound. The crash. Pots and pans clanging loudly throughout the house. The yelling noises, echoing, vibrating the windows. The screams of terror ringing through the supposed empty house. I'm frightened. I ran toward my room, my blackened feet lightly thudding on the floorboards. I opened my door then slowly closed it behind me. I slid my wardrobe door open, my reflection looked scared, I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Consumed by darkness, not a flicker of light. I opened the door a fraction of a centimetre. Light streams into wardrobe. I pressed my eye to the crack and looked out. Nothing.

My bedroom door crashed to the ground. My mother flailing about on it. I watch her eyes withering in fear, from side to side like a washing machine. I placed my fingers through the crack and started to pull when a shadow fell onto of my mum. I watched as the person leaned over her, a kitchen knife brandished in their hand, then pressed it upon my mother's delicate neck, blood slowly oozed out of her neck. They lean over even further, only a whisper escaped their mouth. "Now!" said the assailant. I nearly fell over there. I knew that voice. That loving, that caring voice. Tommy. "Don't make me say this again! Where is he?" his husky voice said. A strand of his jet black hair fell onto my mums petrified face. "I…I… don't know." My mother spluttered, blood trickling from her mouth onto her whitened face.

"Well then, that's just too bad. Isn't it?" He replied in a whisper. I watched as the knife slid across her neck, the skin rippling then splitting and exposing the muscle underneath. The trickling blood started to flow faster down her neck, staining the wood underneath her. Big, fat tears started to slide down my cheeks. I watch as Tommy ruffles his black hair in frustration, a blizzard of white snow falling upon my mother. I'm thought that I should reveal myself, try to help my mother? Or hide away? "When I get you, you snivelling brat, I will kill you." He promised. Tommy howled into the night, raised his blood stained face to the ceiling. My heart skipped a beat. Why would he say that? I thought.

The windows in my room glinted with the colours of blue and red. I sore my eye staring back at me, my face deep in purple. Oh my god! I had forgotten to breathe. I heard Tommy leave the room. My lungs started to try and burst out of my chest. I let out a long breath of air and sucked in some more. I heard another crash as something fell on something or somebody else. "You have the right to remain silent!" ordered a voice. I heard Tommy scream at the police officers. I slid open the door and dropped to my knees at mothers side. My tears splashed onto her white face. I heard footsteps toward my room. A police officer loomed over me. "God damn it!" he muttered to himself. Then he noticed me near my mothers head. "Come on little one, let's get you out of hear." he said to me. I stood up and reached for his large hand. I looked up into the officers eyes. Security.


End file.
